


Of Monsters and Men

by PseudoDragonDreaming



Series: Monsters and Men [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Mary Sue and you can't stop me, Modern Girl in Thedas, Not a Lizard, Slow Burn, The Original Character is a Dragon, Will ABSOLUTELY spiral out of control, dragon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 07:20:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21799243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PseudoDragonDreaming/pseuds/PseudoDragonDreaming
Summary: When given the opportunity to become all that you could ever want to be, one may choose to become a star, an idol: a being so great and powerful that others could not help but wish for their favor and, in reaching for it, bend their own natures to grasp at but the chance of basking in the glorious light of their existence.I could’ve been a god.I became a lizard instead.Alternate Summary: A slow-burning MGIT story based off of an anonymously written prompt about what would happen if an OC were to enter Thedas in a similar manner as Cole, and also as their ideal self. OC's ideal self is a dragon. A magical one.The prompt: https://moderngirlinthedas.tumblr.com/post/186809463625/a-prompt-an-mcit-dies-in-their-world-but-instead#notes*** No update schedule ***
Series: Monsters and Men [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1570837
Comments: 5
Kudos: 59





	Of Monsters and Men

I didn’t like dragons as a kid. Not because I thought they were evil or ugly, which was often the cause for most things I disliked, but simply because I didn’t think about them. They were giant fantasy lizards that razed villages for gold and livestock, captured princesses, killed knights, and were most likely just a metaphor for the Christian Devil. Being that I was neither a Christian nor particularly invested in wild things, I saw little to be interested in outside of the general fear and admiration people felt for the might and legend of these mythic beasts. 

No, dragons did not capture the imagination so much as they did activate fight or flight, and so I didn’t think much about them as a child. That was, until I read an article on how they came to be, or at least, how our Western concept of the dragon came to be. To sum it up, it talked about how they were most likely a sort of scaly Frankenstein made up of long-gone mammals, reptiles, and other creatures ancient humans probably either couldn’t explain and were scared of. There was even the idea that they were dinosaurs, though they likely didn’t breathe fire as most stories about them do, and anyways - no human was alive to actually witness the daily comings and goings of the ages-extinct megafauna.

It was fascinating, and it made dragons fascinating. It was little wonder then, that whenever I’d build up some sort of fantasy world, dragons (or at least draconic beings) were always stitched into the lore. In these worlds, dragons were the wise and cunning beings who played the (occasionally ill-advised) advisor to the young, adventuring hero; the dead gods of an old, dying civilization whose actions and blood still molded the world long after they’d passed from both living and literary memory; they were the slumbering leviathans curled along the ocean floor, whose every shift and breath stirred the still waters around them, occasionally to calamitous effect. 

They were at the heart of parables and often the ones who gave them. Very rarely, however, did I seek to create a dragon who could have existed in the real world. That is to say, I never made a beast. 

Real dragons would be lethal beasts, and as beasts they would never be as my dragons were. Instead, they would do as most creatures do: sleep, mate, hunt - and I don’t doubt that if they were flesh they would probably be frighteningly good and efficient predators to boot. However, they wouldn’t think. Certainly, they wouldn’t speak: and most definitely, they wouldn’t stand here, wholly cognizant and confused, atop a stone platform before a small woman with terrified eyes, finely pointed ears, and an elaborate viridian tattoo etched into the delicate skin of an all-too familiar face. 

Yet here we are. 

I think I should make it clear that I didn’t believe this was a real meeting. Not at first at least, because it simply couldn’t be. I, the impossible scaly beast in question, was really a dreaming human, and the elven Inquisitor was clearly a figment of my D.A.-enthused imagination. Yes. It had to be my imagination, because that’s the only way she could look exactly as I wanted my Lavellan to look (if, perhaps, a year or two below the mark). Her luminous eyes were razor-sharp, just like the rest of her; lean muscle and scars clad in crimson Keeper’s robes. I could never quite achieve her aesthetic in-game because I had only consoles and exactly zero knowledge of modding so needless to say, I was happy. When I found that I had control of my own form, I was thrilled: every twitch of my wings, every shift in position - even the most minute detail like how often I blinked - were all consciously controlled actions. I had never had such lucidity in a dream before and the prospect of such freedom was exciting. A smile crept over the corners of my mouth. There was so much I wanted to do! 

Furthermore, the crispness of the scenery was a refreshing change from the typical blurry quality my dreams usually had, making it genuinely feel as though I were there in the Fade. I didn’t recognize my surroundings as being directly from the game - which, fortunately, meant that I was probably not in the domain of a nightmare. Aside from that though, it seemed pretty in line with what I’d seen from Here Lies the Abyss. There was an altogether too-green sky above and puddle-speckled grey stone below. Flashes of multicolored lightning unaccompanied by the roar of thunder cut across the clouds overhead. The platform we were on appeared to support the ruins of something at once both cavernous and exposed. Hardly any of the ceiling remained. What was still around, really, was on the ground and at eye level. Dark stone and detritus yielded to cracked tile and flowering yellow weeds in some parts of the floor, the once intricate designs of the ceramic now too weathered by time and nature to make out, while sections of crumbled marble wall still clung haphazardly onto pieces of what used to be vibrant mosaic. The designs chronicled old creature legends, I believe. The only wall still intact enough to make any sense of its art depicted, not a winged dragon as I’d expected, but a massive sea serpent whose cerulean scales somehow flashed and gleamed amidst a rippling emerald sea. Whether that was a Fade effect or an optical illusion was secondary; whoever crafted it had enough skill to give the disturbing impression of writhing without moving. A broken column bisected the room, stretched across the center floor like a felled sequoia, whilst comparatively small boulders and shimmery chunks of what may have once been a fountain took up the rest of the space. Well, it would’ve taken up the rest, if my tail hadn’t already been doing that. 

Which - I thought with perhaps a trace amount of smugness - was very pretty. And I wasn’t wrong. It looked as though the scales were made of spectrolite, and when I moved, brilliant flashes of color danced through the air in a fleeting aurora - though the effect was somewhat diminished by the spines. 

Overall, the dilapidated beauty of the chamber gave one the feeling of being sequestered at the heart of some long-forgotten and neglected temple. I didn’t think that temperature mattered in the Fade - or to dragons for that matter - but somehow, I felt cold. 

Remembering the young elf, I sat back on my haunches and attempted to slowly lower my head down to Lavellan’s level, the movement reminiscent of a kowtow. Fitting for the future Herald. It was meant to come off as cautious and non-threatening, but I apparently miscalculated just how freaked out she was. 

The next few minutes were spent thus: she, clubbing me with random spells, and I, clumsily dodging the biggest attacks as the small ones ricocheted off my new body. I’d have been concerned for her safety if she hadn’t nearly taken out an eye. 

A bolt of lightning shot past my ear and I shrieked. It was too loud - deafening even. That was the point at which I began to have doubts that this was a dream. The attacks actually hurt when they landed and I suspected that were I not a giant armored dragon that I would’ve fared much worse than a couple scorch marks and stinging flesh. Or scales. Did it matter? Worse, I found that although my wings were fully functional, so too were the chains clamped to my ankles like a vise, keeping me from fleeing and forcing me to continue evading her attacks in hopes she’d soon stop. It took a minute. When she eventually realized I hadn’t hurt her - that it was more  _ her  _ hurting  _ me  _ \- she (now half-hidden behind a Fade boulder) stopped her barrage and lowered her staff to look me in the eyes.

“What sort of demon are you?” she demanded. I was stunned. In multiple ways. 

“The sort that isn’t!” I snapped, my head throbbing from her last blast. She flinched. To my surprise, I didn’t sound like me. I usually sounded like myself in dreams. The sound that came from my throat was a low rumble which, though still feminine, was leagues away from my own register. It was novel. I was tempted to test out my new voice - however, looking at her face, I seriously doubted that Lavellan would’ve appreciated any noise from me right then. 

Her eyes narrowed into little slits. 

“Liar,” she accused, jabbing the air near me with her staff. I was struck by the image of a praying mantis going toe-to-toe with a great dane. “You can’t be a spirit. Based on your form, you must be a Fear demon.”

I furrowed (or at least attempted to furrow) my brows. It was an odd experience. Did this face even have brows? Was it built for facial expression?

“So you’re scared of dragons then?” She scoffed at me. 

“Isn’t everyone?”

I hummed in agreement. “Don’t think I can argue with that. However, I don’t think Fear demons would target general fear. I mean, I’m not a demon so I could be wrong, but wouldn’t it make more sense for them to show people the things that they - in specific - fear?” 

She frowned, leaning forward slightly to rest her weight on the staff. I examined it. The stave was simply designed, a sturdy ironbark rod tipped with steel and decorated with twisting vines the same shade as her vallaslin. Mythal’s vallaslin. It had the look of something both well-used and well-cared for, which made me wonder just how long this Lavellan had been practicing with it, or whether it was passed down to her.

“Even so…” she hesitated, absently rubbing at a little notch in the stave where the surface was slightly more worn. 

“And if I were a demon,” I continued, “any kind of demon, wouldn’t I have tried to tempt you to do something nefarious at this point? Or messed with your emotions?”

“As a demon you could be luring me into a false sense of security.”

“If so then I’m doing a pretty shit job aren’t I?”

She snorted. Then eyed me curiously. I gazed back while trying to appear as small as possible. A tall order, given that I was a giant predatory lizard at the moment, but anything to keep her from hitting me with the magical boom stick again.

And so we stood there, glaring at each other, neither backing down as though we were in an old western. One minute. Two. I was beginning to regret not blinking before taking part in this stare-off when I saw Lavellan visibly relax, slowly shuffling out from behind the boulder. Although she refrained from putting away her staff, her grip was no longer so tight that I feared she might break it. 

“You know, I never thought I’d hear a dragon say ‘shit’ before.”

Now I was the one scoffing. 

“As opposed to what?  _ Pish-anty cough-ass _ ?” I mispronounced, recalling Sera’s conversation with Dorian on ancient Tevene. She looked at me strangely.

“ _ Pish-what? _ No, of course not. What does that even mean?”

I smiled. Somehow the motion still felt right. 

“ _ Literally? _ ” I quoted, snickering, “ _ ‘You shit on my tongue.’ _ ”

“I-” she started before bursting into laughter. She had an infectious laugh. Awful, really: it was somewhere between a dorky chortling and a truly heinous cackle. I couldn’t help but join in, making the ground shake from my convulsions.

“O-okay, now, okay,” she wheezed, though with a touch of alarm. “Right. So you’re a shit-talking Fade dragon. Fantastic. Now - hypothetically speaking - say I actually believe you, and you’re not a demon. You don’t seem like a spirit either. So then what are you? Some weird Avvar god? You can’t be an actual dragon, dragons don’t exist in the Fade and they don’t talk either.” She paused. “I think.” 

I (hopefully) lifted a brow. 

“You think?” 

She shrugged. “Stranger things have happened in the world. Fifth Blight, fire-breathing lizards suddenly aren’t extinct, the Kirkwall Rebellion… there’s a reason the last Divine gave this age the name ‘Dragon’ right? And not just for the actual dragons. It’s because this shit is just plain  _ weird _ . And you -” she intoned, pointing her index at me whilst swirling it in little circles. 

“- you fit right in.”

I considered what she said and (ignoring the bit about being called a weirdo) she had a point. 

“Fair enough, but I still say dragons don’t talk.”

“Except for you of course.”

“Except for me, sure,” I conceded. “But we’re not in the real world anyways, so me being a talking dragon is, logically speaking, possible.”

She frowned. “Well. You’re right about that. I guess. But I know this can’t be just a dream.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because I’m actually lucid enough to talk to you, even fight you,” she responded, and something darted through her eyes too quick for me to catch. “This isn’t normally how my dreams go. I… by now you’d be dead and I’ll have moved on with the rest of the night.”

Curiouser and curiouser. It looked like someone had secrets to spill. But maybe it would be better to save that for another time, a time when she isn’t armed and ready to blast me into a carcass. Something else tugged at me. 

“Also -”

“- so you’re a mage, right? Are you saying then that you’re not a somniari, a Dreamer?” 

She nodded, looking a bit miffed to have been interrupted. 

“No, I’m not a somniari, and neither are most mages. It’s bad luck to be a Dreamer. And anyways, I might’ve been abandoned by my clan if I were,” she explained, her expression now tinged with worry. Now I was frowning too. I hadn’t expected that. 

‘ _ And what exactly did you expect from her? Or her past? _ ’ I thought, somewhat guiltily. Lavellan was still my character. Compared to most characters of mine, I gave rather little consideration for her personality and past - appallingly little, really. I’d only just begun her clan quest in the game as well (after memorizing both successful advisor paths) having chosen to ignore it until the majority of the other minor War Table missions in Ferelden were completed. God, did I even have a proper name for her? There were definite hints of a history in her previous statement; hopefully my subconscious came up with something compelling (and relatively painless) for her. Like how it had apparently made her perceptive, as she’d caught onto my shift in emotion. 

“Why?” Lavellan asked pointedly, now once again suspicious and tightening her grip on the staff, which gave a warning spark. “There a reason to hope I was?”

I widened my eyes and vigorously shook my head. 

“No! No, please, of course not_ \- put the staff down_ _\- _I’m not here to try and possess you!” I yelped, backing up as the sparks raged to full flame. “I don’t even know how!” I winced. Oof. Dumbass. Her eyes darkened.

“Then why  _ are _ you here?” she challenged. 

“Because I’m dreaming!” I cried, though I wasn’t even certain that that was true. The revelation only seemed to confuse her, but it did give her pause. 

“You are  _ dreaming _ ?” she said slowly. The fire of her staff faltered. “That’s impossible. Is that possible?”

Lavellan leaned forward slightly. She gave my form a once-over, as if she was examining me for some proof of personhood underneath my horns. A little shaken and certain that she would not find it, I squared my shoulders and carried on.

“I don’t know. All I remember was going to bed and waking up here. In chains. And as a dragon,” I emphasized. “Not a human. I thought I was just dreaming but honestly, this feels too real and I’m not entirely sure if this actually is a dream anymore.”

“Why are you chained up?” she asked, almost immediately after I finished. “And why are you wearing armor?”

“No clue.”

She sighed and shook her head. “Then at least answer my earlier question. What are you?”

“A human.” Wasn’t she listening?

“You honestly expect me to believe that.”

“No,” I confessed. “But it’s what I am.”

She searched my eyes for guile before giving a sharp intake of breath.

“Oh,  _ balls _ . You’re serious.”

“Yes.”

“Shit.  _ Fuck _ .”

“Fuck indeed,” I nodded. She ran a calloused hand through her hair and leaned back onto the boulder, flames forgotten. The elf looked off into the distance, nervously chewing her bottom lip as she presumably began to think about the implications of a human/dragon/thing chained up in the Dreaming. And I would’ve been content to let her preoccupy herself with that particular train of thought, at least until she or I woke up (the latter of which was starting to seem an increasingly unlikely event), if it weren’t for the fact that I was beginning to feel very uncomfortable. A trapped Fade dragon who claimed she was neither demon nor spirit, who spoke (admittedly terrible) Tevene, and, in spite of appearances, had proclaimed herself to be a dreaming, sleeping human. It wasn’t hard to see where those thoughts would lead her eventually, and I didn’t like it one bit.

I cleared my throat and she snapped her gaze back on to me.

“So what’s your name?” She blinked.

“Ellana.” Ah, so she had the default name. Ellana Lavellan. A nice name, with a nice ring to it: I could do better. 

“What’s yours?”

“Tempest.” Shit, wait -

“- Tempest?” she echoed back, sounding unconvinced. Her tone irritated me. 

“It’s a nickname. I like it.”

“And who, exactly, gave you that nickname?” she questioned. “And when?”

In an instance wherein my body reacted in such a way I was almost certain normal dragon bodies were incapable of, I felt heat rush into my cheeks. A blush. I had hoped that the scales would’ve obscured it, though by the small smirk forming on Ellana’s lips, it was evident they didn’t.

I scowled at her and she laughed at me.  _ Me _ , the scary, spiky lizard large enough to eat an aravel. Then again, she’s also apparently the sort of person to pick a fight with strange, spiky - talking! - lizards, so I probably should’ve expected that. Ugh. I huffed and turned my head to the side as her laughs subsided into giggles. 

“You look like a petulant child.”

“No I don't!” she waved dismissively. 

“Whatever you say Scales.” she said irritatingly, hazel eyes glittering in a distinctly unpleasant way. The nickname, however, wasn’t completely unbearable (if a bit unoriginal). “What’s your story again? You say you were a human, but you don’t sound very human.”

“Woman, I am about as sure of my humanity as you are of your elf-hood.”

“But your accent is all wrong!” she argued. “Were you raised by dwarves?”

“No, just other humans.” I responded, watching as she mulled over my answers. I got the sense that she was still quite skeptical of my story, which of course didn’t align with the facts of her world, and decided to change the subject again. 

“How about you Ellana? You seem like the type with tales to spare.”

“I do, though I doubt I’ve anything more intriguing than this.” Brat. 

“Surely you’ve got something, though,” I insisted. “Someone perhaps? A family?”

She quirks an eyebrow up. “A clan, remember? I’m Dalish.”

“‘Course. And your clan is…?” I prompted encouragingly whilst venturing to get a little closer and a lot smaller by draping myself atop the fallen pillar. I heard it crack underneath me. Oh well.

She sighed and crossed her arms before launching into a history of her life. It was more or less in line with what I’d read: she was Ellana Lavellan, the young and prodigious First of Clan Lavellan, which was led by Keeper Deshanna Lavellan, and they were perhaps the only Dalish clan in the Northern Freemarches that could validly claim to have a degree of amicable relations with humans. The only difference between this and the wiki were the current circumstances. Her clan was travelling to the location for the upcoming  _ arlathvhen _ , which she was pretty excited about. She was twelve the last time it came around and wasn’t allowed to present any new findings herself. This time though, she’d done something big enough to talk about: she had discovered a burial site. 

Granted it was small, no greater than a generation, but it was left mostly intact with the only real damage coming from natural forces. She’d been restless ever since its unearthing, and had even convinced Deshanna to begin preparations for the  _ arlathvhen _ early. However, despite their head start and the meeting of the clans still being a little over a fortnight away, they’d been forced to change course to avoid bandits. Even worse, just when they thought they were finally past the danger, they found themselves in the middle of a very sudden electrical storm - and as such, had to deviate from their planned path a second time to seek shelter whilst waiting for the clouds to disperse. The rain eventually slowed to a stop, but hardly anyone had the energy left to resume their journey; and so, they settled down for the night. Ellana had been returning to the campsite after “using the bush” when the downpour resumed, and with a vengeance. Heavy rain made it harder to navigate the swiftly darkening woods. She wasn’t an unskilled hunter and she knew her way around the wild, but when the storm resurged it was like she was in an entirely different forest: no landmarks, no tracks, no sound - everything was drowned out by the rage of the storm. Exhausted and lost, the last thing she could recall was that she’d eventually stumbled across the remains of some ruined building - the exact one we were in right now - and, too tired from being lambasted by wintry gales and relieved for a moment’s reprieve, she didn’t think to question its oddness. Instead, she staggered to the nearest raised alcove and promptly blacked out. 

“Please tell me you didn’t piss in my fountain,” I said after she finished her recount, tone grim. 

“Ass.”

“It was an honest question!”

“And you’re honestly an ass.” I grinned, careful not to show too much teeth. 

“Don’t worry Ellana, I’m sure your body’s safe. Well at least from the rain. Not sure about the hypothermia.”

She gave me a puzzled look that genuinely made me feel bad. Though unintentional, what I said was still in poor taste, and I truly did hope she’d be okay. I shook my head and stretched out my back, which emitted a sustained series of satisfying pops. She wrinkled her nose and I chuckled.

“It’s nothing. I’m sure you’ll be safe from that too,” I amended. “So about this ‘arlathvhen’, will you be talking about this place as well? You did technically discover two things, though I’m not sure if this” - I raised a claw and gestured around us - “is elvhen.”

Ellana shrugged. “Don’t know if I should. Given the situation, I’m sort of hoping to just forget this ever happened,” she confessed. 

I frowned. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that, so I made another pee joke that may or may not have resulted in getting magically water-ballooned in the face. She still answered the handful more questions I had after that, which was surprisingly incautious for a woman who’d literally thought I was a demon when we first met not more than a couple hours ago (or at least I assumed it was a couple hours; I wasn’t really sure if time worked the same here). 

We chatted for a while. She was quite animated when she talked about her clan. There was a lightness to her when she shared stories, too, practically about anything: her people, chores, the Creators, humans, magic. She was a good storyteller, and that made it all too easy to let the time slip past us. When she suddenly poofed out of existence at the climax of ‘Fen’harel and the Tree’, I was so startled I jumped and instinctively swung my tail. It took out part of the back wall, revealing an endless void of empty green space behind it. The newly made hole ushered in a gust of frigid air that made my teeth chatter and I scooted as far away from it as I could, scraping my scales in the process against the rough rock and jagged tile. The sound grated at my ears. Dammit. When she returns, she’d better bring me a blanket. 

Wait. Would she return?

A pit of dread formed in my stomach. She said she just wanted to forget this whole thing ever happened, but I didn’t want to be left alone. 

I got up and started pacing. 

By now I’d come to accept that this probably wasn’t a dream: this was real. I was sure that the bruises and scrapes were real, real enough to hurt when I touched them. Ellana was too detailed to not be real, in history and being. The cold was real. This decrepit building was real. This world was real. And if everything was real, then this was it, this was my life. 

I stopped. I didn’t want to be left behind, another forgotten thing, just like these ruins. My heart thudded painfully in my chest. She wouldn’t just leave me here, would she?

‘No, definitely not.’ I scowled, laying back down over the collapsed column. It didn’t crack this time. ‘She isn’t like that. She’s a good person. And anyways, she likes you, she named you Scales.’ I thought, and nodded to myself. 

‘No one just abandons someone they named.’

Light cascaded across the walls, warm and bright. She’d be back. I just had to be patient. 

My eyelids fluttered closed and I exhaled, the fearful pounding in my chest soothed somewhat. Somewhere in the distance the soft whisper of wind emerged from the thick silence. 

I just had to be patient.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and constructive criticism is appreciated (just please don't tear into me; I can be quite sensitive). Haven't penned anything substantial in a long while so I wrote this to get the rust off the old writing gears. Thanks for reading!


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